by Rita Herron
After all, the sex had been good. Not great, but good.
And he hadn’t had a woman in a damn long time. Because every time he’d tried to make love to someone, he’d seen Lisa Langley’s face in his mind. Other men fantasized about strange women, hookers and movie stars during sex, and he had once done that without thinking twice. A warm willing body was all that he’d wanted.
But that was before Lisa.
Not that he’d ever slept with her.
But he had wanted to. So many times.
Mindy had cried the night he’d ended it, had actually claimed she’d thought they might find something special together. But his heart hadn’t been in it. Hell, at one time he wouldn’t have even thought he had a heart.
But he did, and it belonged somewhere else—a place that was forbidden.
To a person he could never have.
Now, poor Mindy’s long hair had been whacked off in a choppy style. The tears had dried on her face along with blood and dirt. Bugs had already infiltrated the wooden coffin and had eaten at her hands and arms. And the stench of body fluids and decay swirled around him, made worse by the insufferable heat.
He tried to compartmentalize. To evade thoughts of Mindy’s final hours in the box. But the dark eerie images drew him anyway. Her desperately clawing to get out. Fear racing through her. The terror of being trapped underground, the air slipping away.
He’d heard Lisa’s vivid descriptions. Her low voice still echoed at night in his dreams, her words a picture that had been permanently etched in his mind.
The nausea rose again in his stomach. Stomping back his own emotions to remain professional, he glanced at the rookie cop to see how he was holding up. Officer Surges had composed himself and was measuring the depth of the grave, although his face was still a pasty-white as he climbed in, recorded his findings, then watched Mindy’s body being placed in a body bag. Dunbar was searching for tire tracks, comparing each to the emergency and police vehicles.
“She’s been here several hours,” the medical examiner finally said. “Estimated time of death is midnight.”
“He probably buried her sometime earlier,” Brad said, “then waited until this afternoon to call it in, to give himself plenty of time to escape.”
“Clipped her nails just like before,” Rosberg added. “Wonder if he kept them like White did.”
Brad shifted on the balls of his feet and swatted at a gnat. “He must be driving a truck, a big SUV or station wagon, or he couldn’t haul the coffin out here.” He glanced at Rosberg. “I’ll get someone to start working that angle. Run a DMV check on the suspects we have so far.”
“You’re talking about White’s brother and his cell mate?” Rosberg asked.
“Yeah, and Vernon Hanks.” Brad loosened the knot at his tie, the heat and stench getting to him. “Nettleton drives a Yukon, doesn’t he?”
“Yeah, says he needs it for his camera equipment.”
“How convenient,” Brad said wryly. “Maybe he has other uses for it, too.”
Rosberg slanted a curious look his way. “You like Nettleton for this?”
“He’s as good a suspect as any we have.” Brad glanced back at Lisa for the fiftieth time to make sure she was okay. “Let’s put a tail on him. He’s an arrogant asshole. I want that cocky smile wiped off his face.”
Rosberg rubbed a hand over his stomach, reached inside his pocket and took out a roll of antacids, then popped one into his mouth. “You’re not contemplating a personal vendetta, are you?”
Brad arched a brow. “It’s a criminal investigation. We have every reason to suspect Nettleton.” He explained about the phone call Lisa had received.
“You think our copycat may try to kidnap her?”
A chill slid down Brad’s spine. “It’s possible. But this time, we’re going to catch the bastard first.”
* * *
IT WAS LATE IN THE NIGHT by the time the crime techs finished. Brad and Lisa drove to his cabin in silence, fatigue and anxiety intensified by the humid air in the car. Brad cut the engine when they arrived, and Lisa opened her eyes. She’d rested her head against the headrest, but she hadn’t been able to fall asleep.
She wondered if either one of them would rest tonight. A mangy looking dog with wiry brown hair and an awkward gait loped from the forest and stared at the car as they parked. Lisa clutched the door handle, wondering if the animal was friendly or if it would attack. “Is that your dog?”
Brad squinted through the darkness. His eyes looked bloodshot, his face strained. “No. But I leave him food sometimes.”
“Does he have a name?”
“Beauregard.”
Lisa relaxed and studied the poor animal’s posture. Fatigue lined his features. “Who named him that?”
“I did, after a homeless man I once knew.”
“Someone you arrested?”
Brad hesitated. “No, this old guy I shacked up with once.”
Lisa’s mouth parted slightly. “You lived on the streets?”
He angled his head toward her, looking bone-tired. “It was a long time ago.”
But the memory still lingered in the far corners of his mind, just as ghosts did her own. “Maybe when this is over, you can tell me about it.”
He shook his head. “When this is over, you’re going back to Ellijay, to your kids and your nice life.”
Lisa latched on to that thought, although for some reason the idea of leaving Brad bothered her. He seemed different tonight. Less intimidating. Even vulnerable, maybe.
The mutt watched Brad as he exited the car, hungry for affection. Lisa opened her car door and started to climb out, but Brad came around to help her before she could drag herself from the soft leather seat. Exhaustion tugged at her limbs, but the dog loped up to her, and she knelt and petted him. “There, there, boy, I know it’s hot out here. We’ll bring you some water.”
Brad opened the door and retrieved a bowl of cold water, then set it outside.
“Aren’t you going to let him in?” Lisa asked.
“No.” Brad gestured for her to come inside. “I don’t have time for a dog.”
“But he looks so lonely. Didn’t you have a pet growing up?”
He gave her an odd look. “My foster parents said they didn’t get money for taking in unwanted strays. Animals, that is.”
She frowned, her heart hurting for him. How could a person say something so cruel to a child?
She wanted to talk more, ask more questions, but his closed expression cut her off. The small den held a hodgepodge of old furniture. A brown leather sofa and a recliner in beige-and-brown plaid faced a TV. Newspapers littered an oak coffee table and a cream-colored rug partially covered the wood floor. A state-of-the-art computer system occupied one corner, that one item symbolizing Brad’s priorities.
“There are two bedrooms. The guest room is small,” he said as if in apology. “You can sleep in my room.”
“No. The guest room’s fine.” Not his room, with his scent and clothes inside. Too much temptation for her aching heart. Brad was grieving for another woman tonight. It wouldn’t be right.
“Do you want something to drink or eat before you turn in?” Brad asked.
Lisa shook her head. Her head throbbed, and she had lost all appetite after seeing Mindy’s dead body.
That could have been her four years ago. She hadn’t been able to shake the realization that it still might be if she wasn’t careful.
* * *
BRAD SHOWED LISA to the bedroom, his hands knotted by his sides, the urge to touch her a palpable throb.
God, he was selfish. Mindy Faulkner lay dead in the morgue, and all he could think about right now was the fact that it could have been Lisa. That he wanted to hold her so badly he was almost shaking with need.
He cursed silently. He was losing his edge. Letting his personal feelings affect his job. Just as he had four years ago.
And for a minute, she’d made him feel guilty about that mangy dog. As
if he needed something else to take care of. Besides, he didn’t want to get attached to the animal. It was better that way for both of them.
“We have to share the bath,” he said in a low voice, remembering that morning when he’d used Lisa’s shower, and shampoo, then shared breakfast with her. And just yesterday he’d watched her dance with those children.
He wanted to spin the clock back to that moment, block out all the ugliness. To haul Lisa in his arms and hold her forever. To make love to her until the darkness faded.
“Thanks, Brad,” she said softly. She hesitated, looked up at him, and he almost reached for her. But in spite of the heat stirring his body to life, he held on to his resolve and said goodnight.
Lisa closed the door behind her, and Brad sighed, fighting the possessive feeling that overcame him when he was around her, struggling with his insatiable desire. He couldn’t have Lisa. Neither could he sate his need for her by taking her to bed.
Because he’d inevitably have to walk away from her, and if he slept with her, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to do that.
Images of Mindy bombarded him as he splashed cold water on his face. Knowing sleep wouldn’t come yet, and feeling bad for the damn dog, he set out food, grabbed his boxing gloves and headed down to the big oak tree by the lake where he’d hung his punching bag.
Five minutes later, he pounded the bag, venting his frustrations. Hard solid jabs with his left and right. He swung his leg up and karate kicked the center a few times, then threw punch after punch, harder, faster, each time more forceful, the images of Mindy at the morgue fueling his temper. Sweat drenched his chest and ran down his back, and he tugged off the shirt and tossed it onto a tree stump, then swiped at his forehead with his arm and began again. With every slam to the bag, he imagined catching the sick bastard and taking him down.
He continued the grueling beating, relentless, unscathed by the blood that seeped from the boxing gloves and the tremors that rocked through him.
Finally, when his legs buckled beneath him, he dropped to the ground on another stump, threw off the gloves and let the blood drip from his fingers. Oblivious to the pain, he lowered his head onto his hands, closed his eyes and gave in to the anguish and exhaustion.
* * *
LISA HAD TOSSED and turned, but sleep had eluded her. When she’d heard the door close and realized Brad had gone outside, she climbed from bed and followed him down the trail. The summer heat was stifling, but a slight breeze from the lake rippled the water, splashing gently against the rocky embankment. Sensing he wanted to be alone, she’d stood beneath the shadows of the hardwoods and watched as he’d pummeled the punching bag until his hands were bloody and sweat coated his muscled back.
Seeing Mindy’s body being lifted from the grave had resurrected horrific memories for her. And she sensed Brad’s anguish.
But the case also made her feel lucky to be alive.
A sliver of guilt assaulted her for the thought, but she banished it, reminding herself that she had been given a second chance, and she should appreciate life, should make the most of her time. After all, life could be given or taken away in a heartbeat.
But tonight wasn’t about her. She ached for Brad. Saw what he was going through, and wanted to offer him comfort the way he had comforted her four years ago on that long ride to the hospital.
The blood droplets trickled from his hands onto the ground, but he seemed oblivious. She hurried back to the cabin, grabbed a damp cloth and rushed down the path to him again.
When she neared, she paused to study him, debating whether to intrude on his private moment. Finally, sensing that he’d exhausted his anger, she tiptoed toward him. Thunder rumbled above. Twigs snapped beneath her feet, cutting into the silence, and a frog chirped and leaped across the ground in front of her. She was sure Brad would turn around at any second and order her to leave him alone. But he was so lost in emotions and grief for Mindy that he didn’t notice until she stood by his side. His head was lowered onto his hands, the sculpted muscles in his arms bunched tight, his bronzed skin slick with a fine coating of perspiration.
He didn’t look at her, but his body stiffened.
Touched by the depth of his pain, she slowly reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder, then stroked his back gently. He didn’t move for a second, simply sat still and silent, the brooding loner who didn’t need anyone, the savior who fought for justice even when it might cost him his life.
“Brad…”
“Go back to bed, Lisa.”
“No.” She moved closer, slid her other hand to his back, massaged the knot in his neck. “I’m so sorry. Tell me how to help you.”
He cleared his throat. “You can’t.”
“Let me try,” she whispered. She slowly moved in front of him, knelt and wrapped the damp cloth around his hands, absorbing the blood. “I know you’re hurting. I know you loved Mindy, and I wish I could bring her back, that I could replace her—”
“Don’t say that.” He lurched up and gripped her hands, the volatile emotions in his eyes so wild that she stepped back from him, afraid she’d crossed the line.
“I…I can’t stand to see you like this,” she whispered.
“You don’t get it, do you, Lisa?” He released her, flung his hands above his head. “I am sorry Mindy’s dead, but that’s my job and guilt talking. I wasn’t in love with her. It wasn’t like that. We only dated a couple of times.”
Lisa staggered backward. “What?”
“I said I wasn’t in love with her.” He rammed a hand through his hair. “I almost wish I had been. She was so upset when I told her that I didn’t want to see her anymore, maybe I pushed her into going out with someone else. Maybe the killer.”
Lisa’s heart fluttered in shock. “What are you talking about?”
“She wanted us to be together,” he said, pacing now like a madman. “But I didn’t. I…I couldn’t be with her.”
“But…I thought…” She searched her brain for the exact words, then forged on when she couldn’t find them. “It does matter. You’re hurting for her now.”
“It’s my fault she was kidnapped, my fault she’s dead,” he said in an agonized voice. “Don’t you see? I didn’t protect her, just like I didn’t protect you.”
Lisa stumbled closer to him, his words wrenching her heart. Thunder rumbled again, the trees closing around her, but she couldn’t let Brad suffer alone. So she did the only thing she knew to do. She slid her arms around his body and hugged him.
His body went ramrod stiff, his hands dropped to his sides. Rejection stung her nerve endings, but then, as if his will faded completely, he suddenly lifted his arms and dragged her closer to him. She felt the fine sweat from his skin sear through her camisole, felt his muscles tighten and constrict as he clenched her harder, felt his breath on her neck as he lowered his head against her. She tried to pretend that they were simply two people who’d found one another in the loneliness of the night, to forget that the only reason he was holding her was because they’d both seen a dead woman tonight.
* * *
BRAD HAD ALWAYS THOUGHT he was a pillar of strength. He had survived abuse. Foster homes. The streets as a teen. And then after…
But when Lisa wrapped her arms around him, he completely lost the battle for control. Through the thin material of her satin camisole, he felt her soft curves pressed against him, felt the stiff peaks of her nipples jutting out, teasing his chest, and his body hardened with need and desire. He held her tightly, his body quaking from wanting to drag her inside his cabin, strip her naked and bury himself inside her.
Finally unable to grasp the ironclad will that had kept him from touching her before, he lifted his head. The pure, unselfish innocence and kindness in her eyes tore at his soul. The flicker of desire that flashed briefly took his breath away.
That slight flicker was all it took. He had wanted her for so long he couldn’t remember not wanting her.
“Lisa—”
“S
hh.” She pressed a finger to his lips. A finger that tasted like sweetness and taunted him with desire.
A growl erupted low in his throat, and he forgot how to fight. Instead, he lowered his head and pressed his lips gently against hers. One taste only whetted his appetite, stirred his hunger, and he deepened the kiss, tracing her lips with his tongue, nibbling at her mouth, urging her to open to him. And when she did, he moaned and ran his hands through her silky hair, pressed her closer, so close his erection strained inside his pants and pulsed between them. The need grew within him like a thirst that couldn’t be quenched, and he melded his lips over hers again, this time more bold, sucking on her lower lip and delving inside her mouth with his tongue. She returned the kiss with the fervor of a newfound lover ready to explore, and the sultriness of a woman who wanted more. He wanted to give her everything.
He wound one strand of hair around his fingers, then lifted her head back and trailed hot, wild kisses along her neck, nibbling at her sensitive flesh until a tiny moan floated from her lips. Then he dipped his head lower and flicked his tongue along the soft curve of her breasts. Hunger roared through him as she clutched his arms and offered him access. Emboldened by her throaty sounds, he closed his mouth over one nipple, lifting his fingers to caress the other one.
But suddenly he saw his bloody hand cupping her breasts, leaving traces of crimson, dirt and sweat on her white camisole, and he gasped in disgust and yanked himself away.
“Brad?” Her voice sounded small. Lost. Her breathing feathered out in small spurts that mocked the tormented rasp of his own.
“I’m sorry,” he growled. “That…was wrong.”
Knowing he was a bastard for muddying her beautiful body with his bloody hands, he forced himself to look up at her like a man. But what could he say? That he was sorry for wanting her?
He was…but only because he couldn’t be the man she deserved.